SMARTJUICE

Step Away From the Vehicle

So about two weeks after getting married and moving into Wife's apartment, my truck was broken into. Then a month or so after that, it was broken into again. Then over the summer it was, yet again, broken into. Now, I can hear all of you saying: MOVE!. And to this I can only say, we cannot move. For starters, we are in an excellent location. Random crime sprees aside, we love where we live. Besides, there is crime all over Dallas. It's not something you can really get away from, especially near the city. Additionally, our rent is a steal. Seriously, sometimes I wonder what dirty little secret we have over the landlord because he could charge us so much more. Add to that the fact that we're on one income at the moment and it becomes clear that moving isn't an option at this point. I also am pretty certain that it is the same person that targeted my truck, and somehow this seems less scary than three random, unrelated events.

I say the truck was broken into three times, but technically that is not true. The first time was a true break-in. My lock was jimmied open, but nothing was taken on the account of the robber not being able to find my stereo faceplate which was hidden in a very secluded spot called UNDER THE SEAT. Huzzah..I outsmarted the robber! Or did I?

As a result of the jimmy-ing of the lock, the lock itself broke. This created a situation as I would either have to enter through the passenger side of the truck or just leave the truck unlocked. I got into a habit of taking anything of value out of the truck and just leaving it unlocked at night so I wouldn't have to crawl across my bench seat. That was a sight to hold, believe you me. Well, you know what they say about habits, right?

No?

Well me neither apparently, because I happened to leave the stereo faceplate in the truck on the same night that it was burgled. Again. But this time the thief didn't have to do too much seeing as how the truck was unlocked. I lost my cd player that night, but technically it was not a break-in.

After that I decided to get the lock fixed because I was tired of crawling across the bench seat and I thought it ill-advised to leave the truck unlocked. I mean, what if someone started sleeping in it? However, I really didn't care at this point. I mean, what else could they possibly steal? My atlas? Better keep your hands off my bungee cords, that's all I'm saying.

Well, during bar prep I realized that there was still something worth stealing in the truck And that would be the ACTUAL TRUCK itself. As you can imagine, it was an awesome day to go outside and realize the lock had been jimmied yet again, and on top of that, the steering column was jacked up and I couldn't even get my key in the ignition. (R. Kelly shout-out!) While getting the truck towed I learned from the tow-truck driver that my particular make and brand of truck was almost impossible to steal.

So I guess I have that going for me. Easy to break into, hard to steal! That's should be their tagline!

Anyway, I filed a claim and the truck got fixed and everything is fine now. But I still do worry about my truck being vandalized again. I thought about putting in an alarm, but my door locks are manual and I'm not sure if it's possible to have an alarm. I also don't want to put tons of more money into my truck, seeing as how I don't want to be driving it many more years. So instead, I created my own alarm system, designed to be equally as effective as loud beeps and horns. To wit:

or

or better yet

I also thought about appealing to their logical side:

or maybe to their poetic side and speak to them in haiku:

or maybe to to their artistic side?

I guess they are working because [knock on wood], no problems so far!

What do you think of my alarm system? Tune in tomorrow for another reason as to why my truck just keeps getting cooler and cooler!

Missing the Obvious

You know, I used to have a tag line on this thing that said something to the effect of: "Smartjuice. It won't make you smarter, but it sure tastes good!" I really should add that tag line back because it is such an apropos disclaimer. See, there are many, many times where I could use some smartjuice. If there was such a thing, that is. There are many, many times where it seems my brain loses functionality and in turn, I lose the ability to process things rationally.

Is this detrimental to me? No.

Does it make me say to myself on numerous occasions, "Self, that was pretty stupid?" Why yes, it does.

Take the other day for example. I have this large break between my morning and afternoon classes, so I usually spend it in the student lounge studying reading surfing the interwebs and generally finding anything to do to kill time. I usually like to hunker down in these comfortable lounge chairs in front of the windows so that I can look out at the activity happening outside. Lately there has been all types of construction going on at the hotel across the street. It is undergoing a major renovation, so it has been under construction for some time, On this particular day, there was a large section of scaffolding on the side of the hotel that faces the law school. On each level of scaffolding stood a construction worker. The workers were passing these metal poles to one another. The guy on the top level would take a pole and pass it to the guy on the level below him, and so forth, all assembly line style. Like little Oompa Loompas or something.

I paid little attention to this and would only glance at them occasionally. Whenever I did glance out the window, the workers would still be doing their assembly line thing. The only part I couldn't figure out is where the poles were coming from. I knew they were coming from above, so I figured they were being lowered from the roof or something. But the poles kept coming and coming...and I started to realize there was no way they were coming from the roof.

See, this is getting hard to explain. I think an illustration would best serve this purpose. So please allow me to show you some drawings I did in Microsoft Paint. I feel as if I need to issue a disclaimer first though. I am no good in Microsoft Paint. No good at all. Horrible, really. I am all thumbs when it comes to using the mouse to draw things. I have no clue how people use that program. Which reminds of a completely unrelated story...

In my senior year biology class, for every lab report we turned in, we had to include an illustration of the apparatuses (apparati?) we used for the lab. Like if we used a scale, under the 'Equipment' section of the lab report we had to draw a scale. I have no clue why we had to do this. As if 'scale' wasn't descriptive enough. As if the biology teacher did not know what we meant by 'test tube.' Why did we need the drawing?

Anyway, there was this one girl in our class who would always turn in these amazing lab reports complete with these incredibly detailed drawings of all the equipment used in the lab. And the drawings were probably done to scale as well. She did all of these drawings on Microsoft Paint. They were so good, and her lab reports were so thorough, that when me, her, and another guy got put in the same lab group, my teacher even told me, "I would get her to put together the lab report."

And that is what I did. I let her do all of my work. Hey, my teacher told me to let her do my work. Additionally, it was the last six weeks of my senior year and I really didn't care all that much. Also, the girl would spend hours upon hours making these Microsoft Paint illustrations and I had no time for that. I  kid you not when I say hours. I would go to her house to work on the reports, and four hours later she was still drawing a picture of a bunsen burner. It would inevitably end up looking like this:

Whereas my efforts would have turned out something more akin to this:

Keep in mind, I don't think bunsen burners actually plug in to anything. But I was working with some seriously limited Microsoft Paint skills, okay? Cut me a break. Anyway, after four or so hours of this I would be at wits end. So I ended up concocting this crazy story about how my parents gave me a crazy early curfew and I had to be home by 9pm. And then she would stay up all night perfecting her drawings and putting the lab report together. And then we would get an A+.

Fair? Probably not. But it's not like my teacher didn't know what was going on. HE TOLD ME TO LET HER DO EVERYTHING!

Where was I? Oh, the workers on the scaffolding. Yes. Okay, so the first time I noticed them, the situation looked a little something like this:

See the workers? See their freakishly long arms? And their freakishly large heads? Pretend the guy on the top is passing a pole down to the guy below him, and so forth. But where are the poles coming from? A little bit later:

More assembly line action. More freakish stick people. But where are the poles coming from?? And then later:

I ask again, where are the poles coming from??

Here's an idea...maybe the poles are coming from the actual scaffolding? Maybe they are taking apart the scaffolding one level at a time. Maybe since entire levels of the scaffolding are disappearing, it would have been easy to figure that out. But then again, maybe not.

You know how I said before that this blog will not make you any smarter? Well, it sure as heck should make you FEEL smarter. Smarter than me, anyhow.

Hunting and Gathering

After much scouring of Targets and other various stores around Christmas-time, I eventually scored a Nintendo Wii well after the New Year. It was a Christmas gift from my parents, but I had to expend the energy to find one. My mom said she would never go hunting for toys again after the Great Cabbage Patch Kid incident so many, many years ago. No one quite knows for sure exactly what went down the day she went to get my sister a cabbage patch kid, but we can only assume it was bad. I envision it being like Vietnam, only with suburban moms and plush dolls with plastic faces. I kid about that, but there might not be much of a difference between the Viet Cong and a mini-van mom on a mission. Both are ruthless. Both will cut you. I wouldn't mess with either.

I happened to be on my Christmas Break when all this Wii frenzy was going on. I thought this would be beneficial to me because while everyone else was working, I could be out and about looking for the Holy Grail of gaming systems. However, I forgot that no one seems to work at Christmas-time. Ever. And I also forgot about the above mentioned suburban moms. They proved to be a formidable opponent. Every morning I would wake up and start making the rounds on the phone. I would call store after store to find out if they received any Wii's the night before. No one ever knew anything. No one EVER knew if a shipment may or may not be on the doorstep in the morning, afternoon or night. As far as they were concerned, the Wii's just showed up in a poof of white smoke on the heels of a unicorn that was pulling a sleigh containing the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and leprechauns. Forget those old-school myths, the Wii was quickly taking their place.

I realized that I needed to dial it down a notch when I found myself screaming at a customer service person over the phone. I called the local Wal-Mart to ask my usual questions, and the ever so helpful salesperson told me she had 100 people in line and didn't have time to indulge me. "You don't have time to answer my questions?" I yelled. "That is great. GREAT CUSTOMER SERVICE YOU GOT THERE! I bet your manager will love to hear what kind of customer service I'm receiving!!" Then she hung up on me. Poor lady. I highly doubt she had 100 people waiting in line, and she was on the rude side, but like everyone else, she really had no idea when they were going to get the Wii's.

Now, remember how my parents said they wouldn't be a part of the Wii hunt? Yeah, they totally caved. They started looking when they were out and about. I even got both of them to go to different Targets early in the morning to see if any Wii's had arrived. Even Evil Sister and Brother-in-law [BIL from now on] were also in on the act. [They were still in Dallas from when they got married. IN SEPTEMBER. It's like they refused to leave. Or work. That is another story for another time though.] Much like me, they got more into the chase than anything. Like a junkie needs a fix, we needed a Wii. 

Then one day, the clouds parted and the heavens shone down. Angels began to sing and a white dove flew down and landed on a single olive branch. Evil Sister went to visit our Nanny in Oklahoma and called from the Wal-Mart. The Wii had been found. She raced to the customer service desk to get someone to open the glass case, leaving a very confused Nanny standing guard in the electronic department, holding a can of biscuits. And then her and BIL had the Wii and it was soon on its way to Texas. The lone Wii in all the land and it would soon be mine. And then my dad called and said he was at Target and he was looking at 10 of them. So, a little bit anticlimactic there at the end.

I went over to my parent's house that night to get my prized possession. I had already been in constant communication with the house as soon as the Wii got there. Every time I called, everyone made a point to tell me how much fun it was and how my Dad and BIL had been playing for most of the day. I figured I could not just go out there and take the Wii and leave. That would just be mean. So I went out there and spent the night and watched as they all played with my Wii. It took everything in me to not grab it in my hands and make a run for it. But no. I had to be nice and patient. I had to be all of those good qualities that I abandoned long ago in the search for the Wii.

I think that is what bothered me most about the whole process. As Americans, I think we can get pretty caught up in wanting things right now. Right this instant. WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME WAIT WHEN I WANT SOMETHING! And this is exactly how I acted. I was incredulous that I was being forced to wait for a mere toy. That I couldn't just order one offline. That all these pesky teenagers had one and I did not. That my cousin's son, who is only 3 years old, he had one and I DID NOT. That is an ugly side of me and I don't want to see it for a long time.

But at the same time, it was pure adrenaline and a great fix. So, I wonder what the next hot toy might be? Because there are many Target employees that I haven't yelled at yet and they are probably feeling left out.

Aliens

The aliens came to get me the other night.

In my dreams, at least.

I dreamed that aliens were coming to Earth and everyone knew about it. They were supposed to come at 7pm and everyone was running around frantically trying to find a place to hide. There were these rows of lights underneath the ground and they would pulsate and flash, and although no one knew what the lights meant specifically, we all knew they were no good and the aliens were up to no good. I was trying to make my way to my parent's house, but for some reason I would remember something inside my house that I had to go back and retrieve. Like my flip flops. You know, important things. I never got to see the aliens though, because I woke up. I woke up in terror.

You see, I have a completely irrational fear of aliens. Evil Sister would always laugh at me about this. Whereas she was always afraid of things that could potentially happen, like burglary or being mugged, I chose to be terrified of things that could never happen, like alien invasions. "Why, of all things," she would ask, "would you be afraid of aliens?"

The thing is, I shouldn't be afraid of aliens. As a Christian, I know that God created the universe and that he did not create aliens. I know this, okay? But show me some alien documentary or something and I guarantee you that my sleep will be very fitful that night. Or I will have dreams about alien invasions and then wake up terrified. Terrified to get out of the bed. Terrified that an alien, with it's long pointy fingers and large black eyes, will appear in my bedroom doorway. Terrified that the noise I just heard was not, in fact, the ice machine, but rather an alien making its way into my house. So I just lay in bed and stare at the door, waiting for those long fingers to curl around the door frame. Telling myself that there are no aliens while my heart beats faster and faster. Very adult like, I know.

A friend of GF's is dating a guy who lives in Roswell, and when we first met him we exchanged the usual alien banter that everyone in Roswell probably has to engage in when they meet people. I must say, I was very cool about it all. Making jokes about the aliens and asking lots of questions about the crazy alien aficionados that make their way to Roswell. And it does make for great banter and good jokes, but I think I would die if I had to live in Roswell. I think I would constantly be terrified, having to go about my daily business with all that alien stuff everywhere. Of course I would play it off very well. I would pretend that those alien posters had no effect on me, but then would probably not sleep a wink that night. All those alien images would be seared in my brain and would then be projected into the darkness of night. It would be problematic, to say the least.

I shouldn't have to tell you how much the movie 'Signs' freaked me out. Seriously. Freaked me the HELL out. I think what did it was that you actually saw the aliens in that movie. If they had just implied that the aliens were there without actually showing them in all their scariness, I think I would have been alright. Maybe. Okay, probably not. It did not help that I chose to watch the movie a) by myself, b) in the dark, c) late at night, and d) while house-sitting for my parents. I'm not even sure if I slept at all that night. I remember trying to go to sleep, but I could still see a reflection on the television screen. If you remember, this is how you first saw the alien in Mel Gibson's house; through a reflection on the TV screen. Well, obviously that wasn't going to work. In fact, sleep itself just wasn't going to work that night. Not when there could have been aliens out there.

Needless to say, the aliens never came. And they never will. But if for some reason they do, which they won't, but if they do, which they can't because they don't exist, but if I'm wrong, but I'm not, but if Roswell really happened, which it didn't, but if our friend from Roswell is actually an alien, which of course he's not, 'cause aliens DO NOT exist, but what if THEY DO, but THEY DON'T, but just in case, I'll be sleeping with one eye open.

What are y'alls irrational fears?

Confessions

1. Skipped class this morning because I did not want to wake up. Also did not want to go to class.
2. Still woke up at a decent hour with plans of working on this outline that is due tomorrow, which means that I have not started yet. Luckily, it is only preliminary and not for a grade.
3. Began looking through cases I had already researched. Became tired. Gave up temporarily.
4. Downloaded music. Specifically, Fergie's new album. [Shoot me now. Also, don't judge.]
5. Watched two nannies running with their charges strapped in running strollers. Watched them from the kitchen window where I was stuffing my face with Wheat Thins and soda.
6. Played 'London Bridge' at full volume and did the running man around the house.
7. Repeat #6. [Don't judge.]

Can I explain the whole Fergie Ferg thing? I've decided that I'm going to try to take up running again. Not that I've ever seriously taken up running before, but I have enjoyed brief sporadic periods where I ran a few miles a week. It has been a long time since one of those brief, sporadic periods occurred. However, now that I live in a neighborhood with beautiful tree-lined streets, I feel like I should take advantage of that. When Evil Sister and her husband [Evil Brother now, I guess?] came over, she said something to the effect of, "You're an idiot if you don't start running around these streets." I don't want to be an idiot, so I'm taking her words to heart.

The problem with running though, is that it takes so long to actually enjoy it. Those first weeks where you are out of shape and dry-heaving after one mile are torture. I normally never make it past those first two weeks. But this time I want to make a concerted effort to be a runner. To make it through a 5k without those side-splitting pains. To not balk at the thought of running 5 miles.

Now, I figure that I'm going to need all the help I can get. Part of that help comes in the form of music on my mp3 player, and nothing makes me get up and go more than cheesy pop music. And that is why I found myself downloading the Fergs. I can't help it. When that London, london bridge wanna come down, I want to get up and move. So now I just have to actually, you know, get up and move. I mean run.

Here is where you guys can help. What kinds of suggestions do you all have for good running music? What songs do you know that make you forget for 4-5 minutes that you are in hell? What tunes make the shortness of breath bearable? Let me know in comments and/or email.

Smarty smart say me love you long time.

Valet

The relationship I have with the valet people here at the office building is a love/hate relationship.

I love them.

They hate me.

Really, they do.

I've never been the biggest fan of valet service. I guess I attribute that to being cheap. Why pay someone to park your car when you can do it for free? Sure, I understand using valet if the area is super crowded and parking is hard to come by. But this is Texas. There aren't too many places where it is extremely hard to find parking.

Take the malls, for instance. Especially the ritzy malls like Northpark or Willow Bend. There is tons of parking, albeit, sometimes the parking is farther away. Now, I know that most of the people that use valet at those malls are the richie housewives with nothing else to do but shop all day. Every other aspect of their lives is handled by someone else, so why not let another person, a servant, park your car for you? Besides, they probably just finished an hour of cardio with their trainer so there is no point in walking the extra 10 yards from the non-valet parking lots. But me? I will never valet at a mall. Mark my words. NEVER. (Unless I do. Then I will come back to this entry and edit it out. Ha!)

Where was I? Right...I've never been the biggest fan of the valet service. Until now. The building I work in is valet-only. I would never park in this building if I was fronting the cost. Luckily, I'm not. And guys? Valet service rocks. I drive into the garage every morning, hop out of my truck, and just walk away. Then when I'm done, I come down to the garage, tell them my number, and my truck arrives shortly after. Actually, they know my number by now, so when they see me coming they leave to go get my truck. It is a beautiful thing. And I love it.

However, like I mentioned earlier, they hate me.

For starters, I never tip them. Not because I'm cheap, but because I NEVER have cash on me. That's another reason I never use valet. I can't very well tip the valet drivers if I have no dollars. So, no tips for the valet drivers, unless they are willing to take a check card. Besides, I know my boss pays good money for that service anyway, so it's not like they aren't getting paid. And also, you can't force people to use a valet service by not allowing regular parking and then expect that everyone will tip you. You just can't.

As a comeuppance for not tipping, I think the valet guys have started toying with me. Sometimes I think they take their time in bringing my truck around. They also adjust my steering wheel, which is their way of trying to mentally break me. I will get in my truck and notice that something is off. The steering wheel does not feel right. I will then spend a good five minutes trying to figure out if it has been adjusted, or if I am just being paranoid. See, they are clearly trying to mess with my mind.

I think the peak of their hatred occurred the day I locked my door before getting out of my truck. With the keys inside. With the truck running. In the valet line. After a brief moment of panic, I realized that this probably happens all the time. These guys probably have a slim jim that can help open my door. All of those rational (and reasonable, I might add) thoughts were incorrect though. No slim jim. No way to get inside. My options, given to me by the gruff man chewing on breakfast sausage, were to call a locksmith or go get a spare.

Of course, the co-workers that were there at that time all ride the train. None of them had a vehicle. I couldn't get a hold of GF because she was doing something important, like saving a child's life or something. Any other person I called was busy as well. Who did I know that was downtown and could loan me a car so I could go back to my apartment to retrieve the spare? The people at my old company, of course.

"Hi, it's Matt. Yes, it's been a while. Yeah, school's great. I know, I do need to come see y'all sometime. How about now! Yes, I'm serious. I'm in the lobby right now. Yes, come down! Also, bring your car keys, okay?"

Luckily, I still have good friends there. An hour later, I made it back to the building where my truck was running the entire time. I quickly opened the door, turned off the truck, and then hurriedly walked away from the truck, the whole time feeling the eyes of valet hatred burning a whole in my back.

I don't even think I tipped them that day.

They are so going to hide an egg in my truck one of these days.

The valet guys would join the notify list...assuming they didn't hate me. Join! No tips though.

The First Step Is Admitting

Right on the heels of my timely Christmas entry, I figure I'll go ahead and write about Valentine's Day. Timeliness is what Smartjuice is about, people!

"Smartjuice. We're always one-step behind the times!"

So Valentine's came....and then it went. I had a memo due two days after Valentine's, so I spent most nights that week in the library. And on Valentine's I sat in a library cubicle and whispered sweet nothings to my memo draft and said that if it would get me an 'A', then I would buy it a diamond to wear around its memo neck. It hasn't gotten back to me yet. So yeah, Valentine's Day in law school was a dud.

But, GF and I did exchange gifts. And cards. And I guess that sufficed.

Speaking of cards....

This was GF's home-made card to me. Her and a friend of hers are serious scrapbookers. Scrappers? Who knows. All I know is that this is the heaviest card I've ever received. It's like a card and a dumbbell all in one. I am also completely perplexed at how people come up with some of this stuff. Like who sits down and decides to glue a zipper on two pieces of paper, so that you can unzip the paper as if you were unzipping your jeans. I mean, did you hear what I just said? Unzip the paper. Who thought of that?

Anyway, included with the card were these.

And they rock. I've wanted them for awhile, but could never justify another pair of tennis shoes, so I'm glad she justified them for me.

And added bonus to the shoes was this.

You see, there is something I need to admit. I have a problem letting go of boxes. They are just so....useful and practical.

I know this is a problem. My dad has this same problem. He is a recycling fanatic and will not throw out any type of box. He collects them until he can take them to the recycling center. My sister and I always tease him about his box collection and ask him if he pets and loves on his boxes, as if they were rabbits or something. We, my mother included, always tell him how ridiculous it is to keep so many boxes. But I'm beginning to wonder if I suffer from the same affliction. Am I a box hoarder?

Look at my closet. That is a fraction of my box collection. All the others had to be thrown out when I moved into a smaller apartment. I'm seriously considering building another shelf in my closet for more boxes. Someone please help me!

My reasons for hoarding boxes have nothing to do with recycling. My reasons for hoarding boxes are very OCD. When packing, I love to be able to pack away something in it's original box. I especially love it when I have the original styrofoam that keeps everything inside the box tight. And I really like it when all of the boxes I use to move look the same. And oh my, I am a freak.

But I'm not alone. You see, GF and I were having brunch with some friends of ours who are soon to be in the process of moving. Naturally, the topic of boxes came up. GF and Mr. F are in the same boat. "Throw the boxes away," they chant. But Mrs. F and I disagree. "Boxes are so helpful and useful!"

"What good do they do just sitting there?"

"Not much, but when you are moving is when they become helpful."

"I swear, you would want an entire separate house to keep boxes in."

"You're going to be the one packing and when you ask where the microwave box is I'll just say that it's been thrown out. I when you ask if we have anything to wrap around the coffee pot so that it won't break, I'll just say that we used to have the styrofoam that fit the coffee pot perfectly, but that too has been thrown away. So don't complain when the coffee pot is broken."

"I think that if the coffee pot breaks, we'll just buy a new one."

"Cause that is practical. Coffee makers are expensive."

"Not as expensive as your box house!"

Can you imagine? A house just for boxes? The box possibilities would be endless.

I think I need a support group.

Beware!

People, do NOT do what I do. Just don't.

You see, the other week I got to thinking about different ways I could save money. This whole law school/not having a job thing means that I no longer get bi-weekly paychecks, and while I have good savings and get money every semester from Uncle Sam, I also realize that I am probably spending more than I should be. More than a poor law school student should be anyway. One cost saving area that I started to focus on was cable. Yikes!

If you knew me in person, you would realize how HUGE this is. I haven't been without cable for as long as I remember. My family and I have always had it. In fact, I remember watching many episodes of Fraggle Rock as a child, which means that my parents had HBO, which means not only did we have cable, but we had the good kind. And I distinctly remember a two week period in college where I had no cable because it was going to be two weeks before a cable man was "in our area". Never mind the fact that the only thing in the town was my university. How big could the area be? Needless to say, some major, earth-shattering, MTV type news event happened during this time and I had no idea until I overheard someone discussing it in class. I was not happy. 

I started to make a mental list of all the TV shows that I needed to watch, and besides the Sopranos starting back in March, most shows I watch are basic network shows. Because of the studying and reading, my television habits have scaled down some. We will not count all of the crap I watch on MTV though. Maybe it's time for a 26 year old man to not watch so much MTV. (And my parent's still have MTV, so I can get my fix there. Thank the Lord for those weekend marathons they show!) And with the Sopranos...I hadn't figured that one out yet. I know people with HBO, so I had just planned to be a mooch. After much deliberation, the decision was made. The cable was going! I made a call to the company, and being assured by the tech that my locals would not be affected, I canceled service.

That happened yesterday.

And today? No locals.

None. At all. Blue screen. Every channel is blue.

My mood is not blue. Mood is red.

So I call up the cable company, because this will not work. Some lady with a syrupy sweet twang answered and told me she would love to help me with my cable needs. Lady, I needs the cable.

Her: What seems to be the problem, Mr. Smartjuice?

Me: Well, I canceled my service yesterday. I asked MANY times if I would still get my locals and was told that I would. But now I'm not getting my locals.

Her: Hon, why did you do that? Are you moving or something?

Me: No, it's just a money thing. I need to save money.

Her: Oh hon, you should have just downgraded then. Do you want me to set you up with locals?

Me: No, because I should already have them. Some guy told me that I would still have locals.

Her: Oh hon, no. You're not hooked up for anything now. You're complex isn't set up that way. You're not going to get anything without rabbit ears. You should have just downgraded. We only charge $5 for that. Now it will be $42 dollars to re-connect.

Me: But NO. I only canceled service because I relied on what the other tech said. I relied on his lies. LIES! And now all I get is a blue screen on every channel!

Her: Hon, take the receiver off.

Me: I did. Every channel is blue.

Her: Have you tried auto programming every channel?

Me: Are you seriously asking me this?

Her: Do you have the rabbit ears on?

Me: No.

Her: Well hon, you aren't going to see anything without the rabbit ears. Put the rabbit ears on.

Me: I don't HAVE any rabbit ears. I probably threw them away because I never, ever thought I would cancel my cable, but now I have and have seen the error of my ways. Please give me back my locals.

Her: I can do that....for $42.

Me: I think I'm going to need to speak to a supervisor.

A supervisor is supposed to call me tomorrow. We will see how this works out.

Take a lesson from me folks, don't try to be thrifty. Don't try to take away temptation in hopes that your apartment will be more conducive to studying. Just don't do it. I have learned the hard way. I laughed in the face of the cable gods and they are punishing me. Comedy Central is punishing me. Tony Soprano is punishing me. MTV is punishing me.

(By the way, sorry for the long absence. Exams and stuff. Then busy Christmas stuff happened. Then the evil sister that lives in Alaska got engaged...in Texas, not Alaska. Then I hibernated for a week. Then school again. BUT, I do have some good stuff in the pipeline for this site. Anyway, say 'hi', let me know you are still alive. Or send me some money so I can pay the $42 it will take to get my locals back. Good Lord, I might miss Lost tomorrow night. This has become serious.)

Refrigerator? I Hardly Know Her!

At work we have a kitchen on my floor. We call it The Caf. I'm not sure why we call it that. It is nothing like a cafeteria in that no food is served there and there are no lunch ladies present. But it is where everybody convenes to eat their homemade or fast food bought lunches, so in a way, it is a little similar to a cafeteria. One good thing about cafeterias is that you generally do not have to deal with cleaning them. That job is usually left to a trained and paid professional. This is where our caf differs from normal cafeterias and begins to seem more like a kitchen. We have janitors that clean the floors, tables, etc., but for smaller things, the burden lies on us.

To make it fair, we have a cleaning schedule that pairs you up with someone, and for one week, you and that person are supposed to empty/load the dishwasher, clean the microwaves, and periodically clean out the fridge. I'll be honest and say that I am not the best kitchen cleaning partner. I always forget to start the dishwasher before I leave or to empty it in the morning. I'm just inconsiderate like that. Most of the time, it is never a big deal because I am normally paired with some nice and generous person that realizes I am much to busy and important to remember small things like starting a dishwasher, or so I like to believe. However, this past time I got paired with someone who was not going to put up with my lax kitchen cleaning ways. This lady was serious about cleaning the kitchen. I didn't catch onto this at first though. I still went about my oblivious ways, leaving without loading the dishwasher, not unloading it until lunch, etc. Then one day my co-worker comes to me and tells me that she heard Crazy Kitchen Cleaning Lady talking smack about me. About how I was no help to her at all, which maybe, might have been, okay it probably was true, but no need to talk smack about me.

Needless to say, I felt a bit guilty. And I felt a little mad that my good name was getting tarnished over something so stupid. I mean, I would much rather get a bad reputation for doing illegal drugs in the bathroom, not for failing to unload a dishwasher. I decided to make nice with the lady and I offered to clean both refrigerators out on that Friday.

Now, when most people clean out the refrigerators, they send out an email letting everyone know that stuff is about to get thrown away. Come get your crap, or it's going in the garbage. Most people refer to this as a 'refrigerator purge'. So I go to send out the warning email and I think to myself, "Why not at least make it funny and relevant to the times?" Well, it was summer, and most people go to a pool in the summer. With this is mind, I crafted the following email:

"The refrigerators want to lose a little weight in time for pool season. Therefore, REFRIGERATOR PURGE on Friday."

I got a few responses saying things along the lines of "Haha! Clever, clever". No harm done. Until I get an email that simply said the following:

"You are sick."

Now, that is a little ambiguous, but considering the source, someone had taken offense to my email. I couldn't figure it out. I was dumbfounded. How could anyone take offense to that? I went back and read the email over and over and I could still find nothing. So I read it once more, and that's when it hit me.

The refrigerators want to lose weight, so they are going to purge. And that would make them bulimic. I had just insulted all the bulimic refrigerators.

I didn't really think anything of it, so I told my manager about it in a joking way. However, the look of concern that flashed on his face told me that it might not be the best joke. The entire company had just been going through all this PC and sensitivity training, and my little insult to bulimic refrigerators might have bothered other people. So you know what I had to do? I had to send out an APOLOGY EMAIL that said the following:

"I'm sorry if anyone took offense to my previous email. All I meant to say was that I am going to be cleaning out the refrigerators. Thank you."

And let me tell you, as soon as that email hit everyone's in boxes, I had about 20 responses and 20 calls from people wondering who got offended, and did I get in trouble, and how they didn't understand how that email could have been offensive, etc. All of a sudden, this stupid email I sent had blown way out of proportion.

For an entire week, I waited for a call from HR. I waited for them to call me down so that they could talk to me about my offensive behavior. I thought I might have to present some special report to my co-workers about the dangers of bulimic refrigerators. But nothing ever happened. I guess HR doesn't mind if their refrigerators are bulimic, but God help you if you ever wear flip flops.